The Alpha Behind The Chapter 41: His Gift

Chapter 41: His Gift

??Aurora’s POV

??A sharp pain blood in my chest as I looked at him. He didn’t rember. The way he had held , the kiss—it was all gone. To him, it was nothing more than a missing piece in a drunken night. To , it was a mory that had rewritten my entire perception of him.

??It’s for the best, I told myself, clutching the edge of his oversized shirt. It’s better this way. If he didn’t rember, I didn’t have to explain why I had kissed him back with such desperate hunger. I didn’t have to admit that I had wanted him to keep going.

??But God, it still hurt.

??"You have to leave," Oliver said, his voice stripped of the warmth it had held last night. He didn’t look at ; his eyes were fixed on a point sowhere above my head. "I have an early eting with my council, and I can’t have distractions."

??The word "distraction" felt like a slap.

??"I understand, Alpha," I whispered.

??I turned and walked toward the massive bathroom. My reflection in the mirror was a ss—my red hair was wild, and my lips were slightly swollen from a kiss he didn’t even know he’d given . I moved like a ghost, peeling off his clothes—the fabric still slling so strongly of him—and slipped back into my silk party gown. It felt cold and restrictive now.

??When I stepped back into the bedroom, the change in the atmosphere was jarring. The intimacy of the night before had been scrubbed clean. Oliver was already seated at a desk near the window, the glow of his laptop illuminating his sharp, handso features. He looked every bit the powerful, cold King again.

??He didn’t look up as I approached. He didn’t even pause his typing.

??"My driver is waiting downstairs. He will take you ho," he said, his tone clinical. "I expect the reports for the northern trade agreent on my desk by tomorrow morning. See you then."

??"Yes, Alpha," I said, my voice barely audible.

??I waited for a second, a foolish part of

hoping he’d look up, hoping he’d see the hurt in my eyes and offer a small sign that he was still in there—the man who I had drunk with last night was still there. But he stayed silent, his fingers clicking rhythmically against the keys.

??I turned and walked out, the heavy doors clicking shut behind . As I walked toward the elevator, I realized tears were gathering in my eyes.

??What was I expecting? Alcohol had made him friendly; it had made him human for a few hours. But the sun was up now, and the cold King was back on his throne.

??I reached my small apartnt, the silence of the rooms feeling heavier than usual. Maybe I had already grown used to the feeling of Alpha Oliver’s space around .

I imdiately stripped off the silk dress and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, desperate to wash away the scent of cedar and rain—his scent—but it felt like it was branded into my pores.

??After a lonely lunch that tasted like cardboard, I collapsed onto my bed, exhaustion finally pulling at my limbs. I just wanted to sleep until the mory of his cold, clinical gaze this morning faded.

??But a sharp knock on the door jolted

awake.

??I moved to the door, peering through the peephole to see a delivery man holding a sleek, black box tied with a heavy silk ribbon. I opened it cautiously.

??"For you, Aurora Sterling," he said, handing it over.

??"From whom?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

??"The sender didn’t leave a na on the manifest, Miss," he replied with a polite nod before turning to leave.

??I sighed, carrying the weight of the box into my living room. I sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled the ribbon. When the lid ca off, I gasped. Inside was a set of gold jewelry—a necklace and matching bracelets that looked like they cost more than my entire apartnt building. The gold shimred under the light, intricate and breathtakingly expensive.

??Instantly, my mind went to Oliver. He was acting cold only to send

this? Was this his way of apologizing for the blackout? Or was it a "thank you" for the night he didn’t rember?

??I picked up the small, cream-colored envelope tucked into the velvet lining. My fingers trembled as I pulled out the letter.

??"I was going through so items online and realized this would suit you..."

??I started to smile, a tiny flicker of hope warming my chest. Maybe he did care. Maybe the cold King was just a mask. But then my eyes dropped to the signature at the bottom of the page, and the blood drained from my face.

??It didn’t say Oliver.

??It said Dom Raymond.

??The box slipped from my nerveless fingers, the gold jewelry clattering onto the floor with a hollow, tallic sound that echoed through the room. My breath hitched in my throat as the room seed to spin.

??Dom Raymond. The masked man from the club. How did he have my full na? And more importantly... why did he send

these?

??I frowned, my fear slowly curdling into a hot, defensive anger. How dare he? How dare he send

gifts after destroying my life?

??"Once I get to the club, I’m reporting him," I decided, shoving the jewelry back into the box with trembling hands.

??By 6 PM, I was at the club. The air was thick with the usual scent of expensive cologne, drinks, and sex. I stood behind the bar stand, chanically mixing drinks and serving patrons, my eyes constantly scanning the masked faces in the crowd. Every ti the heavy doors opened, my stomach did a nervous flip. I was waiting for him.

??Finally, at 8 PM, he appeared.

??I spotted him imdiately. Dom Raymond was seated on a plush velvet couch in the VIP section, surrounded by a group of other masked Doms. They were laughing and clinking glasses, radiating an aura of untouchable power.

??My blood boiled. I grabbed the black box from under the counter, marched across the floor—ignoring the startled looks of the submissives nearby—and stopped right in front of him. Without a word, I threw the box directly onto his lap.

??The gold jewelry rattled inside. A collective gasp echoed from the other Doms. The music seed to fade into the background as the tension in the booth spiked to a dangerous level. I didn’t care.

??"Dom Raymond," I said, my voice projecting a strength I didn’t feel, "please don’t ever send

gifts again. Don’t co close to , and don’t ever send anything to my ho. If you do, I will report you to the club managent imdiately."

??I didn’t give him a second to respond. I didn’t want to hear that gravelly, hauntingly familiar voice. I turned on my heel and walked away, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

??I retreated to the safety of the bar stand, my heart racing so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs. My hands were shaking as I reached for a cloth to wipe the counter. What I had just done was insane. In a world of predators, I had just slapped the face of a man who I knew to be a high-level assassin—or worse.

??I looked back toward the booth, expecting him to be coming after , but he hadn’t moved. He was just sitting there, the gold box still in his lap, his masked face tilted in my direction. Even from a distance, I could feel the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t angry. It was sothing far more terrifying.

??It was intrigued.

??Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and realized it was the hospital calling.

??I moved away from the bar, the pounding bass of the club vibrating in my chest. "Give

a minute," I shouted to my colleague over the noise, gesturing toward the exit.

??The cool night air hit my face as I stepped into the alleyway behind the club. I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yes, doctor, I’m here. Please, tell —"

??Before he could speak, I felt a heavy tap on my shoulder. I spun around, the word "hello" dying in my throat. Standing before

was a masked Dom—not Raymond, but one of the n who had been sitting in his circle.

??Before I could even process his presence, he moved.

??SLAP.

??